The Invisible Line (Woman in Glass)

The lines are flooding from my mouth,
too fast to catch.
Fingers lingering far too long. as to arrive into a dream of language.

Languages are born and die.

Every sound of the doorknob, metal clicking hard on metal
the finality of closure.
Dreaded footsteps.

All closed doors unequivocally mean and opening.

Quiet, almost Silence.
A song, distant, beyond me tonight.
The candle died from passion,
as the train passed through town blowing it’s whistle as a signal.

The train that is arriving, is also leaving.

The air was puckered around me.
My skin began to ache were your mouth
longs to be breathing.
Upon this lovely neck of illusion,
almost flesh, barely beyond.

With all expansion is contraction, infinite.

To languish in the arms of severity-
on a night not so severe.
Their minds spilling over with recluse dreams.
I lie here again and again.

There is one death from which no man can recover.